This is unfortunately a true story

Alright, this isn't how it's going to stay, but this is the start of a book I've been dreaming of writing, but have a hard time getting the confidence to write and the complete knowledge to write it. This will be a story of my struggle with bipolar, and the weird visions I relieved before I had my first episode. I believe the visions were of past lives as I looked up information online about one "past life" and EVERYTHING including names of people and story ended up being a REAL true story.

Snap!

My eyes open and a blinding fluorescent light stings my eyes.

I try to sit up in the dizzy haze I was in, only to realize my arms and legs are strapped to the bed. I thump back down feeling weaker than ever. Straining every frail muscle, I push myself upward once more with a surge of energy.

"Are you Ok? Do you have children?"

My blurred tunnel visioned world was growing larger and I realized there were two woman to my left and sensed others around me as well in a slight commotion all around me.

"She might have children and thinks she's giving birth.”

What the hell is she talking about? My muscles feel weird, I can't stop this tingling feeling.

Back to the bed I fall.

After that, I can't remember a thing to this very day.

God, how I wish I could at least have a drunken hangover like memory of the night, but it was and forever will be a blank dark mystery to me.

That was the day one of my longest held jobs since my bipolar began at age 21 had ended. I believe I was working there for about 2 years. I tried to call out as I was in the midst of a three day no sleep manic episode. When I say no sleep, it was not by choice. In fact, I had tried very hard to sleep and even tried taking benedryls. I couldn’t stop the buzzing sound in my head, and it was as if I was on a cocaine binge, yet I was completely sober of bother drugs and alcohol.

I tried calling out, but I felt so guilty as they were understaffed that day. Besides most of the people that were nice to me there were working that day. I also figured, hell, if i’ve been up for three days straight full of energy I might as well just go into work.

Not a great idea.

This unwanted sleep binge resulted in me acting completely strange to both my co-workers and the customers.

Later that day, as I wondered the streets aimlessly in my own world, a car flew by me on the road honking their horn and flipping me the bird.

I’m pretty sure it was the customer I said, “Look, I’m very busy and I’m doing my best to get your food out, but i’m under a lot of stress right now.” Something most costumers would either take as a weird joke or just sarcasm.

Back to that morning, I was already in this mode of “having to say EXACTLY what popped into your head and being beyond honest about what you were thinking even if it didn’t make sense to anyone including myself.” I just felt like I HAD to.

At that point though I realized I was sick of feeling like crap at work as most of the people, but certainly not all, did not like me anyway. Even though I had bills to pay, and a boyfriend I split responsibilities with to explain to, I had quit my job.

Later that day I was to be forced once more into a psych ward. Well, sort of…

At first I chose to go back as I thought the devil was trying to talk to me and was horrified by the tricks my mind began to play on me.

When I got into the hospital, they left me alone in a room with a tv show about the end of the world, and on the show a person was putting cigarettes out on themselves. At the same time I heard horrible screaming coming from down the hall of the ER.

It was all like an acid trip, with out the acid, gone horribly wrong.

I somehow snuck out the door, in my robe mind you, ripped my hospital tag off my arm, and ran down a major road nearby in complete chaos thinking the world was ending!

I say I do not like being sad, yet every day I can't help but torture myself with horrible memories.

I feel so alone sometimes…

Yet despite the fact I’m on medications that do not leave me in a bad state as they once did in the beginning, I’ll never forget the way it was right before it all began. The calm before the storm.

The visions.

Some thoughts, as I bounce from manic-depressed states filled with crazy delusions, are soon dissolved as I am brought back to a normal state. In shame, I can’t believe the horrible things i’ve said and the stupid things I believed.

The only thoughts that remain and continue to leave me in shock are the visions I had before it all happened.

Now, when “off my rocker” AND acting normal a fully functioning, I find I truly believe in two taboo subjects that are even more taboo when mixed together;

Bipolar and past lives.

_____________________________________

Story begins-

( will be more dialogue between characters and “showing”)

*Notes/ summary*

I knew I was a very emotional person, but things in my mind were getting worse and I began to worry that something serious was wrong with me.

I tried to going to a therapist. I explained to him how depressed I was, and how all I wanted to do was kill myself, as a desperate cry for help.

All the face lifted overly orange tanned therapist did was ask, "Well did you try going back to school?"

Did he NOT hear a WORD I just said?

I took the over priced bill from the secretary, walked out to a dark gray skied day, drove home, and parked the car in front of my parents house on a quiet street, near the bay. A street that was my haven from everything. As I turned the car's ignition off in the stale silence, I leaned my head up against the steering wheel and began to cry. After that, I never spoke of my possible case of bipolar again...

It was only a matter of days before the visions began.

As always I set out to the swing in my neighbors beautiful yard, where I had an amazing view of the night sky. That night I did not listen to music. I honestly don't remember if it all happened in one night, but the first vision started more as a faded thought.

A man in a blue coat was shot in the back falling to the ground. His pupils instantly dilated as if his soul jumped out of his skin. On the ground his piercing empty eyes lifelessly and helplessly starred back at me.

Another night, completely sober in every way each time by the way, I was sitting on the swing in silence in complete hypnosis of the moon's luminous glow. That's when it happened again another vision, but this one was different.

Instantly the image of a teenage boy with pale white skin, darkness under his eyes as he was so pale, thin squared shaped lips, and chestnut brown hair in somewhat of a "bowl cut" style. He was sitting above me on a gray stoned wall on an angle as if I was walking by and looked back to catch his gaze. He wore these bright royal blue "tights" as they did in the dark ages. They weren't like ballet tights though, they were thicker, and somewhat shinier like a spandex looking materiel. I couldn't see what was on his chest, but I always assumed since then it was a cross." As soon as the vivid vision took over my whole vision, it was gone.

I knew this time who it was.

Oh my God, that's the boy from my story I made up when I was 13. As I grew older I tried to imagine a "dream guy", and the guy was based on the boy from my story I tried to write when I was 13. "The boy on the Stone wall." At age 13, I wasn't sure if I wanted to either name the town with the word North in it, or if it was somewhere in a northern region of the world. For a while I just made up a name and called it Northine.

That was until I took out a map and did the "close your eyes and let your finger guide you." I pointed to the area I felt it was and found a town called Northumbria.

As a way to cope with my constant anxiety around the age of 19, I started to imagine up a "dream guy" by my side constantly saying things like, "it's ok, it's ok, keep going."

He looked like the boy in my vision and story, but I didn't make the complete connection when I imagined him.

I even got these weird feelings, around when the visions began, that there was this male figure's presence that would stand behind me on the swing and "look after" me. That presence feeling I would get, no matter if the presence felt good or bad, it creeped me out. Part of me called myself paranoid and crazy, yet another part of me was scared by the fact that this may be real. I knew it could not hurt me, but sometimes I would get the feeling, see a little sparkle in the corner of my eye, and the feeling would instantly pass.

I then began to feel it was him, but just an older and taller version, not the 14 year old I wrote about in my story. If I was to describe the older version I would say he sort of looked like the main character from the show Smallville, but paler.

Another vivid vision was being on a beach at night looking at a boat with lots of little windows on the bottom. I had a feeling it was “my boat”.

Then was yet another vision where I was on a boat and could see these amazing tropical mountains. I feel it was early in the morning. My jaw dropped and the word, “Simpatica” fell from my mouth.

I didn’t know what that meant nor certain of the language, but had a feeling it was either Spanish or Italian.

I learned in Spanish it meant, “Amazing.”, but I think it’s a feminine version or what not. I asked a person who spoke spanish and a big grin swept over his face as he thought I was flirting or something for some reason.

Then there was the vision that I knew meant my future, I just didn’t know how it was exactly.

In the split second vision, it was from the point of view of someone being strapped to a stretcher and being rolled into the hospital.

It really scared me, and I wondered if I was going to be in a car accident.

Sometimes I wish it were that, but for one of my hospitalizations that was yet to come, I was in fact strapped and rolled into the ER on a stretcher.

The last final vision, I had taken something. I took a bit of mushrooms and it was when I was sobering up while lying in bed.

It was very vivid, and was the longest vision I have ever had.

I was looking out into the ocean and could see the sun glittering over tiny waves crashing in the wind. Suddenly a voice interrupts my sight, and as I turned to “my left side” I could see a light house. A light house to a story I “came up with” and knew about since I was very young.

“Oh Tabby!”

Suddenly there was a pistol pointed at my face. It was a large white man wearing a red british soldier jacket, long face yet square shaped jaw, light strawberry-blonde hair parted to his right, and cut very short.

Then it was gone.

I knew his was the same “story” as the man in blue who was shot in the back. He wore no big three fold hat like you see in the pictures of British soldiers of the late 18th century. I believe it was late summer/ early fall. I could even see the yellow sun stained grass.

As a kid I remember having this distrusting feeling towards people like the police. I felt all they did was do things they weren’t supposed to, and this was at age 5!

I remember playing in the front yard watching a police car fly by. I suddenly had this thought of these three men at a light house. They drank from a bottle with light brownish-yellowish kind of liquid and a black squared top to the bottle.

When learning about the revolutionary war in school I felt irritated as I didn’t believe everyone was “gun-hoe” to forming America, nor to being a loyalist for that matter. I felt it wasn’t so black and white. Some people just wanted to live their lives in peace.

After this vision I remembered a lot of things about this particular “story”. I remembered thinking about living in this wooden attic. All I had was a wooden table and chair, a white teapot, and a window over looking the town. I slept on the wooden floor and cried almost every night. I just didn’t know why I cried at the time or what these thoughts even meant.

My mother told me when I was young she gave me a dress and I got so excited exclaiming, “I HAVE to save this!!”

To her, she didn’t have a clue as to what I meant.

To me, I highly felt the need to preserve that dress as best I could, because I would need it for some reason.

I also liked to pick flowers, thank goodness my neighbor was a sweet woman, wrap them in white string, and try to sell them to people! Not for real, but it was just one of the strange “games” I played as a kid.

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